


Myself

by shapinguptobeprettyood



Category: The X-Files
Genre: Episode: s07e17 All Things, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-02
Updated: 2015-12-02
Packaged: 2018-05-04 13:11:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 965
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5335340
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shapinguptobeprettyood/pseuds/shapinguptobeprettyood
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“I search myself, I want you to find me. I forget myself, I want you to remind me,” Mulder sings along with the music of the radio.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Myself

**Author's Note:**

> have you ever let a story take a completely different turn from what you wanted? this spawned from a tumblr post; "when I think about you I touch myself. more specifically, I rub my temples because you're awful" and then it ended up an all things story.

He's talking about ritualistic human sacrifice again. And he's doing it around a mouthful of food.  
Scully tries her damnedest to tune her partner out and focus on her salad and case file, but their office is not large and she doesn't have the heart to move her chair back to “her” space. The feeling of being close to him is nice; his energy always has an effect on hers, but today he had been so puppy-like that she was beginning to feel overwhelmed. Sometimes he exhausted her, and sometimes she didn't feel any guilt over that feeling. When she was younger she might have likened him to the sun. But now she knows he is more like fluorescent light in a rundown convenience store far from the edge of town. He is not constant-- he flickers, and she worries he'll finally burn out. His light is harsh in her own darkness, but it's welcome relief when everything is blinding.  
“Scully?” he asks softly.  
Her eyes focus back on him. “Hm?”  
“Are you alright?”  
His eyes flood with raw sympathy and this is a time she feels guilty. “Yes, Mulder. I'm fine.”  
She wouldn't have believed herself, and she's confident he doesn't either.  
\---  
This time he's singing and drumming on the steering wheel.  
Somehow she can't make out the song over the ringing in her ears. It's not him this time. He's not blinding her. It's inside her head now and she seeks to alleviate it by running a hand through her hair. It's not shrill anymore. Now it's him.  
“I search myself, I want you to find me. I forget myself, I want you to remind me,” Mulder sings along with the music of the radio.  
She recognizes the song, but she can't place it. She thinks he's probably flirting with her again, being coy, being funny. A positive answer is what he expects. Flirt with me, Scully. Do the dance with me, Scully. Do you want me, Scully? Do you need me, Scully? Do you love me?  
His voice raises in octave. “I don't want anybody else.” He locks eyes with her as they sit at a stoplight. “When I think about you, I touch myself-- come on, Scully, sing along.”  
She gives him a smile. “Mulder, the only time I touch myself when thinking of you is rubbing my temples.”  
He laughs aloud, and it feels good against her ears. “Scully, you know I'm good for more than just headaches.”  
Her smile lingers as the light changes and the car resumes movement.  
\---  
_Do you want me, Scully?_  
_Do you need me, Scully?_  
_Love me, Scully._  
She gasps as she sits upright. It feels too hot in her bedroom, her chest is tight, and her extremities are cold. Clawing at her own chest doesn't provide any relief from the bands tightening around her ribcage and pressing on her throat. The air in her lungs is too heavy, she can't force it out. Her cheeks are wet.  
Coldly her brain realizes she's having a panic attack and that she'll start hyperventilating in short order. Her hand flies to her phone resting on her nightstand but she stops. Don't. Don't. Don't.  
Don't.  
\---  
He's showing her pictures of crop circles and that song he'd been playing loops in her head.  
It's hollow. It's too light, and she wants to tear it out of herself. She forces herself to focus on eating. A salad, again. How monotonous.  
“And I'm not wearing any pants right now.”  
His gaze is accusatory and it makes her feel small. The world has shrunk to them and he's not happy with her for being distant. Of course he isn't. How is that fair to him?  
When she tries to be present she comes off as rude. She can hear it as she stumbles her way through an excuse not to go to England with him. They're flimsy and both of them know it. She feels like crying when he exits the room, her heart is pulling her downwards and flopping next to his abandoned sandwich.  
\---  
She wakes to find him gone, a blanket in his place, and a tug in her mind. The blanket is heavy as it slips to the floor. The air is thick around her as she silently pads to the bedroom. She uses the tips of her fingers to push the door open, the rain masking the sound of its hinges.  
“Scully?”  
It's unclear how long she was standing there before he noticed.  
“Scully, what's the matter?”  
She walks forward to his outstretched hand, pressing it against her face as she sits down nearly on his lap. Her own hands gingerly touch him. The clarity makes her feel powerful as she feels the atmosphere change around them.  
“Do you want me, Mulder?” she asks as she slowly stands back up, both of them reaching for the buttons of her shirt.  
“Yes,” he breathes, as his fingers run down her skin.  
“Do you need me, Mulder?” she gasps, his hand between her legs, her hands grasping his shoulders and a reverent stare on his face.  
“Yes,” he moans, as he ignores the cramp in his wrist.  
“Do you love me, Mulder?” Her voice is barely above a whisper, chest heaving and forehead pressed to his.  
“Yes, Scully,” he replies, as his grip on her hips tighten in response to her wet heat around him.  
\---  
“Do you want me, Scully?”  
The gentle rise and fall of his chest is lulling her to sleep, but she answers nonetheless. “Yes.”  
His fingers drag across her bare shoulder. “Do you need me, Scully?”  
A shudder passes through her. “Yes.”  
“Do you love me, Scully?”  
She picks her head up, and presses a light kiss to his already-kiss-swollen lips. “Yes, Mulder. I love you.”

**Author's Note:**

> repetition is one of my favorite literary devices.


End file.
